


Stay Forever

by freckledandspectacled



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Carrying, Dracula Influence/References, Frottage, Hand & Finger Kink, Hypnotism, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, Rough Kissing, Vampires, Victorian Flirtation, and that's all Bram Stoker not me just read it Jonathan has a thing for Dracula's hands I swear, hand kissing, it's implied but there eventually, it's vampires leave me alone, kind of, lot of neck stuff, stole that from robin lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Nygmobblepot Dracula AU- starring Edward Nygma as Jonathan Harker, and Oswald Cobblepot as the infamous Count Dracula. With some variations thereof.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Dracula is in the public domain, I literally just rewrote it for this AU, and some lines were taken directly from the original. Mostly because I honestly just could not make them any gayer than Bram, and also because I was writing this based on @sleeping-potatoe's Dracula AU on tumblr which also uses actual lines from the text. Again, this is like literal plagiarism but Bram can't sue me so HA. There are changes of course (particularly the ending for those who know this story, which only will include Jonathan's chapters up to a point).

From what Edward had seen of it, Budapest was a lovely place. He’d glimpsed its buildings and people through the train car and was even able to walk through the streets nearest to the station. It was the farthest east he’d ever been, and he was eager to make this business trip as much of a cultural one as he could. He was afraid to stray too far from the station however, as night was quickly falling in the unfamiliar streets.

His hotel had served him a chicken dish done in a red pepper, which he learned was called ‘paprika hendl’. Though it made him a little thirsty, being unused to spices, he resolved to get the recipe. It was apparently a national dish in the area, and for as long as he was in the Carpathians he would be able to indulge in it. Edward had done some research on the area, of course, but it was one thing to learn of distant lands and quite another thing to be there.

He slept fitfully that night and had queer dreams. Perhaps it was the noises in the night from howling dogs that had disturbed him, or the new spices in his dinner. Upon waking, his dreams troubled him no more, and he did not dwell on them. Breakfast was equally as wonderful as dinner, perhaps more so for indicating that the strange night Edward had experienced was finally at an end. There was of course more paprika, a kind of porridge they called ‘mamaliga’. Edward greatly enjoyed the eggplant stuffed with forcemeat, or ‘impletata’. He made a note to find a recipe for this dish also. His train started late, but the scenic journey through the countryside cured him of his bad mood at this minor setback.

It was twilight when he reached the site of his hotel, called the ‘Golden Krone’. Count Cobblepot had arranged it for him, and Edward was thrilled to find that it was every bit the example of traditional architecture he’d been hoping for. Upon his arrival he was given a letter from the Count, which read as follows:

“My Friend. —Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well tonight. At three tomorrow your carriage will start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.

Your friend,

Oswald C. Cobblepot.”

***

Edward did sleep well that night, but in the morning his company behaved very strangely. His landlord, who had brought him the letter last night, had refused to tell him anything of Count Cobblepot or his castle, and had simply crossed himself and pretended he could no longer understand Edward’s German. Later, the man’s wife had ventured into Edward’s room, prattling on about evil spirits, and that today was the eve of St. George’s Day when they would be at their strongest. Edward was no believer in spirits, and tried to comfort her despite how silly the superstition seemed to him. She begged him to stay his trip for even a day, but Edward had refused, steadying the hysterical woman.

It was then that she took her crucifix from around her neck and offered it to him. Edward hesitated a moment but did not know if it would be rude to refuse her, allowing her to put it around his neck. It seemed unusually heavy, more so when he finally boarded his coach and began heading for Count Cobblepot’s castle. There seemed to be a sense of urgency throughout the trip from his driver, and they made very good time. Near the meeting point, his driver seemed to spurn the horses on faster, and they came to be somewhat early, by Edward’s watch.

“There is no carriage here for you, perhaps you were not expected. I’ll take you to Bukovina, and return here the next day, or perhaps better that it be the day after that—” He was interrupted by the arrival of another carriage, which quickly passed and overtook them. The driver was quite short but imposing, the horses all black and clearly well cared for. In the light of the lamps his eyes appeared red.

“You’re early,” the stranger said, his smile all teeth.

“Mr. Nygma was in a hurry—”

“Then it is a good thing my horses are swift,” he interrupted. “I’ll take his luggage now.” His driver grimaced and reluctantly handed them over, and Edward was not sure he quite understood the exchange. Had his driver been attempting something ill towards him? The stranger helped him out of the carriage, his grip around Edward’s arm like a band of steel. Edward was assisted into the carriage, and as they took off down the pass he threw a cloak over Edward’s shoulders to ward off the sudden cold.

“Thank you,” Edward said, tugging it more tightly about his shoulders.

“The night is chill, and Count Cobblepot bade me take all care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz underneath the seat, if you should require it.” Edward did not make use of the plum brandy, but it was nice to know that it was there. The night journey was by no means a happy one, as Edward found his own fear and that of the horses increasing with the proximity of howling wolves to their carriage. The driver seemed unbothered, and at last they were upon the castle.

Again, the driver helped him down and again Edward was struck by his remarkable strength. He placed Edward’s bags beside him and then left, probably to settle the horses. Edward was faced with a door with no knocker or bell in a strange land, and suddenly was struck by his doubts. Had he really come on this strange adventure to explain the purchase of a London estate to a Count with a castle this grand? Edward pinched himself and found it was in fact felt, and the grim and imposing castle which rose before him was therefore real after all. He had only just decided to wait all night if need be rather than to knock himself when he heard an off-kilter step approaching the door.

When at last the heavy and clearly rarely used door opened and swung back, a man who looked to be about Edward’s age stood across from him. He was clad in all black from head to toe, not a speck of color to be seen. There was a lamp in his hand which threw dramatic shadows over his sharp features, and he motioned Edward forward with his other hand.

“Welcome to my house!” he said, his English perfect, but the way he spoke somewhat strange to Edward. “Enter freely and of your own will!” Edward stepped cautiously forward as the man remained still, making no move to step out and greet him instead. Yet the moment he crossed the threshold Edward found his hand swept up by the count. This man’s strength was perhaps equal to the driver’s, and Edward winced as he took Edward’s hand into his grip. It could have also been the chill of his hand that caused the reaction, as it was closer in temperature to that of a corpse than one of the living.

“Welcome to my house,” he said again. “Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring!” He bent suddenly, pressing his lips to Edward’s knuckles. Edward blushed deeply. These foreign men he’d encountered had been quite… _different_ thus far.

“Count Cobblepot?” Edward asked, wondering if he’d have the pleasure of doing business with this strange creature during his stay. Oswald did not release his hand but bowed again in an old-fashioned and courtly manner.

“I am Cobblepot. I bid you welcome, Mr. Nygma, to my house. Come in, it is cold, and you must need to eat and rest.” The Count released his hand at last and left the lamp in a hook on the wall. He stepped over the threshold, taking up Edward’s luggage. It was only then that Edward noticed an apparent injury to his right leg, making him walk strangely. His host should not be carrying his luggage for him, it was improper.

“Count Cobblepot, please, I couldn’t possibly allow you to—”

“You are my guest. Please allow me. It is late, and my people are not available. Let me see to your comfort myself.” Edward let him by, and the Count insisted on bringing his bags all along the passage and up a grandiose staircase, then along another passage. Neither his limp nor the weight seemed to slow him any, and Edward found himself walking quickly beside him simply to keep pace. He threw open a heavy door to a room before Edward was able to intervene and aid him, abruptly laying down his luggage. Edward was overjoyed to see a fire burning strongly, and a table on which there was a spread for supper already waiting. The Count closed the door to the room and then crossed it to open another, beckoning Edward to follow him through a very small and windowless room to yet another door.

This final room had yet another fire going, and was at last his bedroom, so it would seem. As Edward admired it, the Count quickly exited, returning moments later with his luggage.

“I’ll leave you to freshen up,” he said, moving to the door once more. “I trust you will find all you wish. When you are ready, come into the other room, where you will find your supper prepared.” He closed the door before Edward could thank him. At any rate, the Count’s courtesy and gentlemanly nature had made all of Edward’s fears dissipate. He hardly remembered the fight from the carriage ride any longer, quickly making use of the bathroom. Edward walked towards the door and then thought better of it. There was no mirror in the room, but he resorted to checking his appearance in his shaving glass. He wasn’t quite the mess he’d thought he’d been when the Count had first laid eyes on him, but he straightened his clothing and eased some loose and curling strands of his brown hair back into place. He bit his lips to banish the pale pallor that the cold had given him, and then felt that he could face the Count again. During his absence, supper had been served. The Count waved at the table, welcoming him to it.

“Please, help yourself,” he said. “I’ve already dined this evening, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. But first, I have a letter for you, from Miss Essen.” Edward handed him the letter and waited. The Count read quickly and then passed it to Edward with smile Edward could not help but find charming. One particular passage stood out to him, in which Essen had praised him as being, “full of energy and talent in his own way”. He smiled happily as he read, finishing the letter to find the Count looking at him with an almost fond expression.

“Please, sit,” he said, pulling out a chair for Edward. Though he was not accustomed to being on the receiving end of such treatment, Edward allowed the Count to push his chair in for him. The Count took off the cover of the dish and served him, all the while asking questions about his journey. After supper they sat by the fire together, during which time Edward observed his host more closely.

He had high cheekbones, and everything about him was pointed. His nose was reminiscent of a bird’s beak, somewhat hooked at its tip. His chin was also small, mouth fixed and almost cruel looking. Or perhaps that was only because of the peculiar and sharp white teeth which peaked out over them. His hair was black, tall and feathery. Even his ears were pointed. His hands had seemed delicate and fine to Edward at first, but upon closer inspection were coarse looking, his fingers not so slim as Edward’s own and broader in the palm.

The Count leaned over him as they spoke, his hands touching him, and though Edward found him attractive, some instinctual part of him shuddered at the touch. His stomach roiled, and he could not conceal the sudden nausea on his face. Clearly noticing Edward’s rude reaction, the Count withdrew from Edward with a grim smile that showed off more of those peculiar teeth of his. They fell into silence after that, Edward wondering how he could explain to the Count that he hadn’t _meant_ to be repulsed by his touch, yet coming up empty as to how he might remedy that.

Edward peered out of the window, noticing a slight greying of the horizon that could only indicate that dawn was upon them. Once more he heard the howling of wolves.

“Aren’t they magnificent?” the Count asked him suddenly. Edward could not hide the confusion on his face. He found them to be terrifying.

“Of course,” the Count said understandingly, though Edward had not answered. “You are from the city, you don’t know what it is to feel like a hunter. No doubt you are also very tired. Your bedroom is ready, and tomorrow you may sleep as late as you will. I will be away until afternoon; so sleep well and dream well!” He stood and bowed, opening the door to the interim room for Edward. Edward paused at the door, wondering what to say.

“Thank you, Count Cobblepot,” he settled on. “Good night.”

“Please, call me Oswald,” he said. Edward smiled shyly and nodded, then retired to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the beginning of Oswald's mystery and intrigue. Also, I can't believe I'm writing a vampire AU. What am I, 12? Anyways. If there's anyone out there who likes vampire AUs still I hope you'll drop a comment. Or even if you don't but like any nygmobblepot AU, that works too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Edward becomes closer to the Count, the other man's mysterious nature only intensifies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gettin' gayer folks, slowly but surely.

Edward slept until late in the day, waking without use of an alarm. He dressed and found a cold breakfast laid out and waiting for him, and hot coffee being kept warm by the hearth. There was a card on the table that read: “I have to be absent for a while. Do not wait for me. —O.C.C.”

Edward ate well and looked for a bell to alert the servants he was finished, but could not find any. Odd, that in a house so beautiful and richly furnished there would be no bell. Edward had eaten off gold plates and slept in a guest bedroom whose walls were covered with ancient looking hangings in good keep, no doubt of immense value. Yet there were also no mirrors to be found. Edward did not dwell on this for long, however. Opening another door in the room while looking for something to read and pass the time had led him to a library. A library which had whole shelves full of books in English, to his great delight.

Oswald seemed to have amassed a collection of books detailing English customs and manners, and Edward was happy to see the Law Lists and other such compilations from his homeland. The door opened, startling him, and the Count entered.

“I trust you rested well,” he said, noting Edward’s speechless nodding. He’d given him something of a fright. “I’m glad you’ve found your way in here. These books have been very good companions of mine ever since I first had the idea of going to London. For some time, I have longed to go, to mingle in the crowds and be amongst so much humanity. Unfortunately, I only know your language through these books. I must sound terrible to you.”

“Your English is excellent,” Edward insisted. The Count bowed with a grateful smile.

“You flatter me,” he said. “I hope that you will converse with me a while. You have much to tell me of my new estate in London, and I would of course like to know more even than that. If you would speak with me a while, that I might learn your intonation, I would be grateful to you. Please feel free to correct my smallest error; I hope to master the language. It is distasteful to me to be perceived as a foreigner by my accent, and I would be rid of it as soon as is possible.”

“Of course, I would be more than happy to,” Edward insisted.

“You can go anywhere you wish in the castle, barring of course those doors that are locked. I assure you, you would not wish to go there regardless,” Oswald explained.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Edward said, furiously stamping down on his curiosity. They retired to the fire again, discussing the customs of the area and the strange things that had occurred on Edward’s journey. Oswald seemed to answer him honestly, though often steering him to speak of the house in England. Edward fetched his papers, and was subjected to a myriad of questions about the place and the surroundings. Edward came to realize that Oswald knew perhaps more than he did.

“How did you find this house for me?” Oswald asked curiously. Edward proceeded to tell him every note he’d made about the place, delighted to share even the smallest details with someone who at last cared to hear them.

“I am glad to hear that it is old. I myself am of an old family, and to live in a new house would likely kill me. I prefer be alone with my thoughts when I may.” Somehow his words and his look did not seem to match to Edward, for had Oswald not been desiring of his company? He did not mention the discrepancy. Oswald excused himself, and Edward once more went into the library. It was perhaps an hour later that Oswald returned and found him there again.

“Still hard at work? Come with me,” Oswald said suddenly. “Your supper is ready for you.” He took Edward by the arm and led him into the next room, again seating him as he had the previous night. Oswald once again did not partake in dinner, saying he had dined on his own, and they chatted as they had last supper while Edward ate. In fact, they talked with one another about every possible subject, until a rooster crowed in the distance.

“Why!” Oswald said, jumping to his feet. “There is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so long.”

“I don’t mind, I slept so late today,” Edward said, rising to his feet as well.

“You must make your conversation less interesting,” the Count said, bowing and taking hold of Edward’s hand once more. “So that I may not forget how time flies by us.” He kissed it and rose, releasing Edward’s hand and quickly leaving. Edward could not help but be somewhat shocked by the sudden events, wondering vaguely if Oswald had intended the flirtation or if it was merely the language barrier. He retired to bed and pondered it for some time before drifting to sleep.

***

Edward was only able to sleep a few hours, and when he woke felt that he simply could not sleep anymore. He’d hung his shaving glass by the window, and was just beginning to shave when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Good morning,” Oswald said. Edward jumped, cutting his neck slightly with his razor.

“G-good morning,” Edward answered, peering back into the shaving glass. He hadn’t seen Oswald appear behind him. In fact, he still could not see him reflected in the mirror. How was that possible? Edward breathed deeply, deciding to focus on the newly noticed cut and the blood quickly trickling down his neck instead. That was something he could fix now, something he understood. He put down his razor and turned, intending to root through his bag for a plaster.

Oswald’s expression became _furious_ as he noticed the cut, his hand darting out for Edward’s throat. Edward moved back from him to collide with the table, and Oswald’s hand instead landed on the chain of the crucifix. At once the anger disappeared from his face, leaving Edward wondering if he’d just imagined it.

“Take care, Edward,” he said. “Be mindful that you don’t cut yourself. It is more dangerous than you think in this country.” He reached past Edward, taking hold of his shaving glass.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing this, it has only done you harm,” Oswald said, taking it to the window. Oswald flung the window open with one hand and threw the glass out of it. Edward heard it shatter on the courtyard’s cobblestones, remaining pressed back against the table until Oswald swept out of the room without another word. Edward was very annoyed with him for this, what else would he use for shaving? Not only that, but why had Oswald come into his room at all? And how had he done it so silently, and with Edward none the wiser? He wasn’t even dressed, he realized with a blush, wearing only his long-sleeved white shirt and undergarments.

Now dressed, Edward headed into the dining room again, where breakfast was prepared. Oswald was of course nowhere to been seen, and Edward ate without him. It occurred to Edward he had never seen the other man eat or drink, perhaps he didn’t like to be watched when doing so. Following breakfast, Edward explored the castle some. He came across a fantastic view through the southward facing windows, yet upon further exploration found that every door he came across was locked, and he had no means of exiting the castle save through a window.

Edward felt panic rising at the idea of being trapped. He went and tried every door again, frantic, but to no avail. He was a prisoner. It was no use taking this up with Oswald, who no doubt knew this and intended as much. No, telling him would only let Oswald know that he knew, and Edward would need every advantage now if the situation truly was as dire as he feared it was.

He heard the great door of the castle shut, meaning that Oswald had returned. Edward returned to the dining room, but he was not there, nor was he in the library. He cautiously approached his bedroom, spying Oswald making his bed. He went back into the libraries on his tip toes. Later, he peered through the door of the library and saw him setting the table in the dining room, confirming his suspicion that there were no servants in the house. Perhaps Oswald had even been his carriage driver. Edward touched the crucifix for comfort, wondering what strange mess he’d entangled himself in now. Edward resolved to find out as much as he could about the other man that night, though he would have to do his best not to arouse suspicion over his inquisitiveness.

After their dinner, Edward was able to push Oswald into a long discussion of Transylvanian history, and of his family history. His knowledge on the subject was vast, almost as though he had actually lived it. Edward often found himself leaning his body towards the other man as he alternated between pacing and throwing his hands about passionately while cursing other ancient families, then dropping back down onto the couch next to Edward to discuss his own ancestry’s part in the events. Several times Edward forced himself to sit back against the couch properly, drawn into Oswald as he dropped his head low and conspiratorially to discuss various putsches (which Edward corrected him to call ‘coups’) with Edward as though he were a trusted confidant. Then suddenly, Oswald withdrew.

“Why do you wish to know so much of me?” he asked. Edward briefly gaped like a fish as he remembered the true intentions of his inquiry. He’d nearly forgotten, so caught up in Oswald himself.

“I find it fascinating,” he said, which was not a lie. Oswald’s suspicious gaze lessened, and he reached out, placing on hand on Edward’s knee. Edward could feel that it was ice cold through his trousers, and did his best not to recoil as he had that first night, swallowing around his sudden nausea. Oswald’s other hand reached for his neck, and Edward held very still as cold fingers tipped by sharp nails caressed the plaster he had put over the small cut on his throat. Oswald’s hand moved to the nape of Edward’s neck, his grip there firm and unyielding. Oswald leaned in, and it was then that Edward finally realized the other man was going to kiss him.

At the last moment Edward turned his cheek, and Oswald’s lips landed there, lingering. Edward breathed deeply as the Count pulled away, though his face remained close to Edward’s. He tilted his head, dragging his nose down Edward’s cheek, under his jaw…

“It’s morning again,” Edward said. Oswald almost seemed startled that he’d spoken, moving to look at Edward but not removing his hands. It was like Edward had broken a spell.

“Of course,” Oswald said, glancing at the window. He slowly loosened his hold on Edward, which Edward belatedly realized had tightened to the point of being painful. “Sweet dreams, Edward.”

***

The next morning Oswald was interested in discussing his business only. He had a very developed business acumen, and Edward imagined that he would have made a fine solicitor himself. There was nothing that Oswald did not think of or foresee over the course of their conversation, and Edward felt more engaged speaking about business with him than he did with his compatriots. For someone who had never been in the country, his knowledge was wonderful. Towards the end of their conversation, after Edward had verified everything by the books, Oswald stood suddenly.

“Have you written any letters since you departed?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t,” Edward said, the admission making him feel more isolated than he had moments ago.

“You’ll write some now, my friend,” he said, laying a heavy hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Write to our friend Essen and to any other; and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now.” It was obviously to Edward that he did not really have a say in the matter.

“Do you wish me to stay so long?” Edward asked. His heart grew cold at the thought, the chill from Oswald’s hand on his shoulder unrelenting.

“I desire it much; nay, I will take no refusal. When your master, employer, what you will, engaged that someone should come on her behalf, it was understood that my needs only were to be consulted. I have not stinted. Is it not so?”

“It is so,” Edward acquiesced. This was Essen’s business, and he was here on her behalf. He had to think of her, not himself. Not only that, but something in Oswald’s speech and body language firmly reminded him that he was in fact a prisoner, and that the other man could force his compliance if he did not give it himself. He bowed, and in that Oswald had his victory. Of course, he must have also noticed the reluctance in Edward’s face.

“I pray you, my good friend, that you will not discourse of things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting home to them. Is it not so?” Oswald was smooth and resistless in his speech, and what could Edward do but accept the papers and envelopes that Oswald handed him. Noticing his quiet smile, his sharp, canine teeth peeking over his red bottom lip, Edward understood the implications of his words as well as if he had spoken them aloud. He should be careful what he wrote, because Oswald would read it. Having no other friends, he wrote only to Essen to tell her of his dealings with Oswald and the Count’s satisfaction with Edward’s… company, in her stead. Oswald took up the letters when he was finished and left, stopping in the doorway.

“I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in private this evening.” He paused. “Let me advise you, my dear friend—nay, let me warn you never to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should you feel you require rest, then make haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, and you will be safe. But if you are not careful, then…” Oswald finished by motioning with his hands as if he were washing them. Washing himself of what would happen to Edward.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Edward said. He wondered if any dream that came to him could be more terrible than the circumstances he was currently in. It was then that he hung the crucifix on the wall above his bed, hoping it would help him to ward off evil from at least his dreams.

***

Not hearing any sound for some time, Edward went out and up to the windows he had found the other day. He felt as though he were in prison, wanting nothing more than a breath of fresh air despite the sun’s absence. He leaned from the window to observe the landscape, which was no less beautiful for his captivity than it would be otherwise. In his peripheral vision he spotted movement.

It was Oswald, in a similar position. He was about a story down and to Edward’s left, looking out of the window. Edward could not see his face, but he knew him by his neck and the movement of his back and arms. Of course, by now Oswald’s hands were unmistakable to him, having spent so many opportunities studying them. He smiled, wondering if he should call out to the other man, hesitating when he remembered that Oswald had said he would be busy this evening. Nonetheless, he was somewhat amused by their simultaneous enjoyment of the view— as if fate had placed them both there by design. That amusement vanished quickly at what followed, and was instead substituted for repulsion and terror.

The vision before him made Edward gasp and retreat back inside the window, one hand clasped shakily over his mouth. Shivering, he went back to the window. Oswald had slowly emerged from the window, and begun to crawl down the castle wall over the precipice which it was built on. He did so face down, over the abyss, his cloak flowing behind him like wings. Edward blinked and blinked and pinched himself, but the image continued. He saw Oswald’s strong fingers grasping the corners of the stones, his toes also. Oswald was moving down the wall with considerable speed, almost like a lizard could. Enough so that his cloak trailed behind him rather them flipping over and obstructing his movements. He stopped watching and fled back to his room like the devil himself were chasing after him.

What _was_ he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE THE IMAGE OF COUNT OSWALD 'LIZARD-MAN' COBBLEPOT CLIMBING FACE DOWN OVER A CASTLE WALL HAUNTS YOU LIKE IT HAUNTS ME.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald saves Edward from the Sirens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. Finally the M rating comes into play a bit.

Edward waited for the strange event to happen again. Oswald had moved down about hundred feet down and to the left, then vanished into some sort of opening. Edward had leaned out to try and see more, but the distance was too great to allow a proper angle of sight. Knowing he had left the castle now, Edward finally had the opportunity to explore more than he had dared to do yet. He went back to his rooms, taking a lamp with him, and tried all the doors he could find. They were locked, of course, and the locks were comparatively new. If only he had thought to bring his picks and rakes.

For the first time, he went down the stone stairs to the hall where he had entered originally. Though he could pull back the bolts on the front door easily enough and unhook the chains, the door was locked, and the key was either with Oswald or in his room. Edward resolved to watch if his door were ever unlocked, so that he might get it and escape. He went on to make a thorough examination of the various stairs and passages, and to try the doors that opened from them. One or two small rooms near the hall were open, but there was nothing to see in them except old furniture, dusty with age and moth-eaten.

It was then that he found a door at the top of the stairway which seemed merely to be stuck shut. He pushed harder, and found that it was not really locked, but that the resistance came from the fact that the hinges had fallen somewhat, and the heavy door rested on the floor. He couldn’t lift it and push, but this was an opportunity he might not have again. He braced himself, huffing and shoving desperately against it, finally forcing it back enough that he could slip through the opening he’d created. This seemed to be the section of the castle in which the ladies had resided. The furniture was more comfortable looking than any he’d seen so far, though Edward could not help but feel somewhat lonely and nervous as he waited there.

He felt somewhat sleepy as well, and despite Oswald’s warning about sleeping nowhere but his rooms, he could not help but think of the great pleasure it would bring him to disobey him. Edward pulled a couch out of the corner nearer to the window, so he could admire the view, and laid on it. He slept some, but upon waking could not be sure whether or not he was still dreaming.

Before him were three young women, ladies judging by their dress. One was a bit younger, pale with curling brown hair. Of the older two one was dark, the other also pale but blonde. They seemed to be discussing something amongst themselves, giggling. Edward found he could not move and did not want to, merely lying there as they discussed him.

“Go on!” the younger girl urged the blonde, “You are first, and we shall follow; yours is the right to begin.”

“He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all,” the darker one added. Edward peered at them from under his eyelashes, anticipating the conclusion to their discussions for reasons he did not know. The blonde came to the couch and bent over him, and Edward could feel her breath. Edward shivered, still looking from under his lashes, afraid to even raise his eyelids and disturb her. She went to her knees and licked her lips like an animal, thrilling and repulsing him. Her teeth were perfect and white, and also very sharp. She bypassed his mouth, pausing at his throat. Edward could hear her lapping at her teeth once more and found himself baring his neck, his first movement since he’d woken. Her breath was hot on his skin, and then her lips were there upon his sensitive throat. Edward closed his eyes and gasped, waiting in a languid ecstasy, feeling her two sharp teeth just barely touching him and pausing there.

At once, Edward could _sense_ the presence of the Count, his eyes snapping open as a shock like lightning went through him and drew him to his senses. As his eyes opened involuntarily, he saw Oswald’s strong hand grasp the slender neck of the blonde woman and draw it back. His green eyes were transformed with fury, and the red light in them was so bright it was as if the flames of hell itself blazed behind them. With a fierce sweep of his arm, he hurled the woman from him.

“How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you’ll have to deal with me,” Oswald said, and though his voice was low and almost in a whisper, it seemed to cut through the air and then ring round the room.

“You yourself never loved; you never love!” the blonde screeched. The other women joined in a soulless laughter that almost made Edward faint to hear. After looking at Edward’s face attentively, he turned back to them.

“Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so? Now leave! Go! I must awaken him.”

“Are we to have nothing tonight?” said the dark one, pointing to the bag that he had thrown upon the floor. It seemed to move, as though there were some living thing within it. Oswald nodded in answer, and the younger one pounced and opened it. Edward heard a wail, almost like that of a child. The women closed in and then disappeared with the bag and its horrible contents.

“I warned you,” Oswald scolded him, approaching the couch. He lifted Edward easily, carrying him like a bride. At once the horror of what had happened overcame him, and he swooned in Oswald’s arms and sank into him, unconscious.

Edward came to as Oswald was carrying him into his room, his eyes fluttering open. Oswald laid him down on the bed and began to undress him, apparently unaware that Edward was awake. The Count was careful with him despite the fact that Edward would never know, folding his clothes neatly nearby. It was when Oswald went to remove his watch that he found the will to stir, holding Oswald’s hand. He froze, and Edward also hesitated, unsure what it was he wanted to say. Oswald had _saved_ him. The feeling that gave him was like no other he had ever experienced.

“I usually wind it before I sleep,” Edward whispered. Oswald drew his hand away, and Edward did not posses the strength to keep it.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Oswald said, stepping quickly towards the door. Edward leapt from the bed. That wasn’t what he’d meant to convey, not at all.

“Oswald, please,” he said. The Count paused. “A moment.” Oswald turned to face him, his eyes blazing as they had earlier. Edward shivered to have such a look turned on him. He did not know what to say, so he walked forward and took Oswald’s hand, pulling him back towards the bed. Edward sat on it and pulled him closer still, laying until the Count was bent over him. He put his hands on Oswald’s shoulders and drew him down, down, until he was a hair’s breadth from Edward’s lips. Edward parted them, an offer, a deal which Oswald sealed with his lips as he closed the distance and pressed them to Edward’s.

What started slow and careful soon turned ravenous. Oswald pressed his mouth harshly into Edward’s, cutting his lip on one sharp tooth. The taste of blood must have sent him into a frenzy, for he forgot all propriety and climbed into the bed. Oswald pressed him back, licking across his mouth and then plunging in to taste him. He moved on top of Edward, holding him down and sucking his lip into his mouth, making Edward hiss at the stinging pain. Then Oswald pushed between his bare legs, grunting and rocking against him, still worrying Edward’s now sore lip, and that was enough, _enough._

“Stop,” Edward said, wrenching his mouth away. Oswald kissed along his jaw, under it. “ _Stop._ ”

Oswald kissed his throat, sucked on it, and then two sharp teeth were being pressed there. He was still moving between Edward’s legs, his pace jerky and hurried. Edward reached above his head and pulled the crucifix off of the wall, pressing it to the bare skin of Oswald’s hand where he was gripping Edward’s hip with bruising force. At once the fire went out from his eyes and he leapt away from Edward, the green that Edward was quickly learning to prefer now back.

“I am so sorry,” Oswald said, going to his knees next to the bed. “Are you hurt?” Edward swung his legs over the edge of the bed, peering down at Oswald. He pressed a finger to his lip, which now not only stung but was sore. Worse, he winced and touched his hips, where Oswald’s vice-like grip had certainly left dark marks on either side.

“It’s not so bad,” Edward said. Oswald smiled, relieved, and placed his hands on Edward’s knees. Edward gave a small smile in return and put his hands over Oswald’s. Oswald turned his palms, holding Edward’s hands, and rose to his feet. He pressed a kiss to Edward’s temple.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never—” he cut himself off. Oswald dropped one hand, reaching out and brushing Edward’s curling hair back from his face, leaving his hand cupping Edward’s face.

“Never been in love?” Edward asked quietly, hopefully.

“No,” Oswald whispered back. “No, I’ve never been in love before.” Edward smiled at him, and squeezed his hand.

“Neither have I,” Edward confided in him.

“You should rest,” Oswald whispered regretfully. He moved his hand from around Edward’s ear to the nape of his neck. Edward diverted the kiss at the last moment, bringing Oswald’s lips in contact with his cheek. His lip was still bloodied, and he did not want to risk Oswald losing control of himself again. That, and he was still a little perturbed at Oswald for being so rough with him. Would he have stopped if it weren’t for the crucifix? He of course hadn’t _wanted_ to hurt Edward, it seemed he’d just been unable to help himself. Edward could work with that.

“Good night, Edward,” Oswald said.

“Good night, Oswald,” Edward replied, tamping down on the part of himself that wanted to ask him to stay. It may only have been possible because the rest of him was screaming for him to _run_.

***

The next evening, after Edward had awoken and helped himself to breakfast, then some literature, Oswald again appeared. He had at first attempted to discuss business matters with Edward, who found himself wholly at a loss as to what he should do. Had the events of last night all been a dream? Why then was there a cut on his lip, and bruises in the shape of strong fingers on either side of his waist?

“Oswald,” Edward said suddenly, interrupting Oswald in the middle of a question about the local butchers in the city he was moving to. “Last night… I’m not certain...” Oswald coughed, the first time Edward had ever heard him do so.

“Edward, you were delirious. I don’t know what you think happened—”

“I think you kissed me,” he said, rising from his seat. He approached the couch Oswald was seated on, slowly. “I can’t be sure, but I think I want you to do it again.” Oswald’s mouth gaped, and Edward sat closely next to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Oswald said, his eyes flickering to Edward’s lips.

“You can a little,” Edward replied, tilting his head. Oswald licked his lips and leaned in, pressing his mouth to Edward’s carefully. At once he seized Edward by his hips and pulled him close, drawing Edward quickly and tightly against him. Edward wrapped his hands around Oswald’s wrists and broke the kiss by tilting his head down, mindful of Oswald’s sharp teeth. 

“Gentle,” he said, looking up at Oswald through his lashes. Oswald swallowed, Edward could see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he did. Edward kissed the side of his mouth, pulling at his wrists though he knew he could not move them unless the Count wanted him to. Oswald let Edward guide his hands to his back, giving his sore hips a rest.

“Don’t you know what I am?” Oswald asked him. “It is not in my nature to be gentle.”

“But you have been with me,” Edward whispered, “Vampire.” Oswald’s eyes roved over his face, looking perhaps for the fear that usually came with that conclusion and finding it absent.

“You are not afraid?”

“I am,” Edward said, “You terrify me and fascinate me, but I don’t think you’ll harm me.”

“How can you know?” Oswald asked him, trailing his fingers up and down Edward’s back, his sharp nails sometimes catching on the fabric of his sweater.

“Do you love me?” Edward asked him. Oswald turned his face away. “Tell me, please.” He reached out, cupping Oswald’s cheek. The gesture seemed to startle him, and Edward smiled. To think that this powerful creature could fear him even in a small way was amusing to him. Oswald turned back to face him, those piercing green eyes meeting his again.

“I love you,” Oswald said, moving one hand to brush the backs of his fingers over Edward’s face, to card them into his hair.

“Then I have nothing to fear,” Edward said, kissing him. Oswald let him do what he wished, and for the first time he touched the Count in turn. He threaded his fingers into feathery hair, ran his hands down the other man’s chest. He broke away. “I would stay longer than a month, if you would permit it.”

“I would have you stay forever, if it was your desire,” Oswald said, touching his face, his throat. Edward tilted his head back and let him, sighing.

“Yes,” he said, fingers moving to clutch at Oswald’s shoulders. “Yes.” Oswald surged against him like a storm, carrying him off to his room with an ease that thrilled Edward, despite the ever-present awkwardness of his step. Edward kissed Oswald as he walked them to his bedchambers, one arm around Oswald’s shoulders and the other occupied with caressing his fingers through Oswald’s hair. Oswald supported him under his thighs, hands cold steel as Edward wrapped his long legs about his waist. Edward dared to run his tongue over Oswald’s sharp teeth, and then he was being laid onto the bed, Oswald quickly moving over him. He was gentler already than the last time, strong fingers stroking over Edward’s body.

“You love me?” Oswald asked, and Edward realized he had not said.

“Yes, I love you,” Edward said, his heart rate picking up at the confession. Though perhaps having a monster quite literally between his legs had something to do with his hammering pulse as well. He could easily have been at Oswald’s mercy; the vampire could have his way with him in any manner he pleased. He could suck Edward’s blood, or even take him, and Edward would be helpless to stop him.

Yet Oswald had not. He had not, because Edward had not permitted it. To think he had some manner of control over this powerful being was a thrill all on its own, that he could bend Oswald to his desires merely because the vampire desired him.

“Will you stay with me forever?” Oswald asked, hovering over Edward on his elbows. Edward moved a hand to the nape of his neck, the other around his back. He could not draw Oswald into a kiss, so he drew himself up instead, pressing them together. Oswald groaned and allowed himself to fall on top of Edward more firmly, their bodies pressed together from their chests to where Oswald’s hips met Edward’s.

“I will,” Edward said, giving him his consent. Oswald kissed him passionately, those hands Edward loved so pressing along his sides, caressing him. His tongue entered Edward’s mouth and tasted him, claimed him. He pecked Edward’s lips one last time, trailing kisses down to his throat. Again, Edward felt sharp points at his neck. Oswald had apparently chosen the place, kissing it, sucking a bruise into his skin. Edward barred his neck, a pale and enticing offering to the strange creature he had brought into his bed. He heard Oswald lick his lips. Edward could have stopped him if he wished, his crucifix well within reach.

He did not.

Oswald sank into him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment. If you hated it, throw a rotten tomato at your screen.


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